25 Days of Christmas
by brainyisthenewsxy
Summary: John just wants to spend time with Sherlock during the holidays, but Sherlock has a surprise for him.
1. Mistletoe

There was less than a month left until Christmas and all John wanted was to spend time with Sherlock.

John had tried everything to catch his boyfriend's attention-from baking him pies to looking for interesting cases for him- but nothing seemed to interest Sherlock; he seemed aloof during the last few weeks. No matter what John tried, Sherlock always seemed to avoid him by inventing silly excuses to leave the flat and not come home until very late at night. They hadn't spent more than 10 minutes together a day during the last weeks and the only kisses they'd had were mere pecks on the cheeks.

John was starting to lose hope in having a wonderful holiday with the person he loved the most in the world, so on December 1st, when he arrived to the flat after his shift at the hospital, he decided to stop trying to convince Sherlock through indirect remarks and presents to spend time with him. _If he wants to, he will_ said John to himself as he turned opened the door to the flat they shared.

When he entered, everything was dark. Not even Mrs. Hudson seemed to be home, since not a light was on, and not a single noise was audible. He found this very odd, since he and Sherlock had agreed to always leave at least one light on when they left the apartment, so that they wouldn't have to return to a completely empty and dark home after a long day of work.

John walked slowly into the flat, waiting for his eyes to get used to the poor lighting so he could find the switch on the wall on his left, when suddenly a deep voice said: _I've been expecting you. _It was him. John hadn't realized until that moment that he hadn't heard Sherlock's voice in a very long time.

Unexpectedly, a very dim light appeared in front of his eyes, followed by about a dozen more. They were candles that were illuminating the whole room in a mysterious yet cozy atmosphere. In the middle of the candles, a smiling Sherlock was standing, wearing nothing but his pajamas.

"What is all this?" asked John, a little suspicious of what Sherlock's intentions might have been.

"Oh, just a little surprise I've been planning," replied Sherlock with a smirk. John couldn't help it, but it made him blush to see Sherlock smile like that.

"So this is why you've been so distraught lately?"

"I'm sorry, love, I just wanted this to be a surprise for you."

Sherlock smiled as he walked toward John and hugged him tenderly. John smiled when he smelled Sherlock's scent and felt his curls on his face. Sherlock broke the embrace too soon, but before John could protest, he looked at the ceiling above them. John followed his glance and saw a piece of mistletoe hanging over them.

"Oh, no, you didn't," said John.

"Oh, yes, I did," replied Sherlock before placing a soft kiss on John's expecting lips.

John pressed his tongue against Sherlock's lips to ask for entrance and Sherlock opened his mouth eagerly. They tasted each other cautiously, as if this was their first kiss; John tasted like coffee and cream and Sherlock tasted like peppermint. All they could hear was the sound of their hearts beating as one, while they explored each other's mouths slowly and lovingly.

John thought this could've been the best kiss he ever had.


	2. Hot chocolate

John Watson woke up after a long night of sleep. He was awakened by the dim rays of sunlight that had found their way through the curtains and onto his face. As he stretched and yawned to shake off the last bits of dreams that still clouded his mind, he realized that Sherlock wasn't lying next to him. In fact he wasn't even in the room. John wondered where he might be, since Sherlock was not a morning person at all.

John stepped out of his bed and onto the cold wooden floor of 221B. He drowsily walked into the hall as the memories from the previous night started flooding his mind. He still couldn't believe that Sherlock had prepared all that just for him. It was the most romantic thing he had ever done-after that one first kiss, of course.

As John got closer to the kitchen, a familiar yet unrecognizable odor invaded his nostrils. It smelled somehow like a mixture of winter and love. When he entered the kitchen he was surprised when he saw Sherlock standing in front of the counter, wearing nothing but a white apron, mixing with some sort of stick a gooey, brown liquid inside one of his test tubes. The whole counter was filled with beakers and tubes containing the same maroon substance, but in different densities and shades. Sherlock was so immersed in the task at hand that he didn't realize John had entered the kitchen until he was standing right next to him.

"Good morning, John," said Sherlock cheerfully.

"Good morning," replied John, "may I ask what you're doing?"

"An experiment to determine the exact proportion of milk and cocoa to produce the perfect cup of hot chocolate," responded Sherlock, "but unfortunately I haven't been able to figure it out yet."

"Don't worry, love. It doesn't matter if it is not perfect"

"Yes it does. I need it to be perfect for you. You don't deserve anything less than the perfect cup of hot chocolate on this cold Saturday morning."

Suddenly, the top of the blender that Sherlock was using to create one of his multiple mixtures flew out of its place and all the contents of the blender splattered all over the kitchen and the two men standing in it. John chuckled, but Sherlock became very upset.

"No! Why does this have to happen to me? All I wanted was to give you the special Christmas you deserve! And THIS happens!" exclaimed Sherlock.

John couldn't help but let out a small giggle. "Calm down, love. It's alright."

"No, it's not alright. This is not the Christmas you deserve!"

"And what Christmas do I deserve, if I may ask?" inquired John, amused and at the same time moved by Sherlock's reaction.

"You deserve 25 days of surprises. 25 days in which I would prepare a special surprise for you before Christmas Eve."

"I thought you had only planned last night! Which was absolutely amazing, by the way."

"No! I had a surprise prepared for every day of the month! But now it's ruined. It was supposed to be special."

"But it IS special."

John smiled and removed with his finger a splatter of chocolate that was running down Sherlock's cheek. Then he licked it off his finger.

"It is absolutely delicious"

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course I do. This is the best hot chocolate that I've ever tasted. And you are the best boyfriend anyone could wish for."

John started planting kisses all over Sherlock's face, licking bits of chocolate with each one. He finally arrived to his lips and kissed him very hard. They both tasted like chocolate and John loved it. When they broke the kiss, they did so slowly; none of them wanted to stop, but there was a kitchen to clean before Mrs. Hudson arrived home and found the mess they had made. Before going off to clean up the kitchen, Sherlock hugged John very tightly and whispered into his hair, "I love you," to which John replied, "I love you, too". Sherlock kissed John ever so softly on the forehead and then they went off, hand in hand, to clean the kitchen.


	3. Snow

"John! John! Come over here! You have to see this!" Sherlock's screams woke up John from a vivid dream that somehow involved Santa Claus and a bag full of worms battling over the control of Christmas. _This seems familiar_ thought John as he drowsily got out of bed. Sherlock ran into the room, looking like a kid on Christmas morning that has just received his presents.

"Guess what?" said Sherlock enthusiastically.

"What?" answered John, who was still waking up.

"It's snowing," said Sherlock as he ran to the window and opened the curtains, revealing a cold morning in London, barely illuminated by a few gelid rays of sun that managed to make their way through the clouds. John walked to the window and poked his head through it, to discover tiny snowflakes falling from the sky. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"What is going on, Sherlock? Is it really snowing or am I still dreaming?"

"It really is snowing, John! My calculations only missed by a couple of hours!"

"Calculations? What calculations?"

"The ones I did to determine the date and time of the snowfall, of course! Those idiots at the forecast news were completely wrong about it! 'There will be no snow this year' they said. Those bastards can't even distinguish an altostratus from a cumulus. I can't believe they…"

"How could you possibly know about this, Sherlock? It's been decades since the last snowfall in London! It doesn't snow here, much less in December!"

"Well, it's obvious John! I just had to approximate the distance of the clouds from the ground, their water density and the speed of the wind during the last week or so to…"

"Ok, ok, I get it," John was staring at the window in awe. The snowflakes looked like fairy powder to him, millions of little pieces of heaven falling to the Earth, and forming a white layer upon Baker Street. "It really is a miracle," said John, mostly to himself.

"Well, John, according to mi estimates, the snow is only going to be here for a few more days, so what do you want to do with it?" asked Sherlock expectantly.

"I just want to get out there and touch it!" exclaimed John.

They ran through the flat, and rushed down the stairs towards the front door. Sherlock arrived there first (his long legs gave him a clear advantage in speed) and he opened the door and rushed through it, into the white layer covering the floor. John, however, stayed inside, just inside the door's frame. He was staring outside with an expression that Sherlock couldn't quite understand. Was it fear?

"What's wrong, John?"

"Nothing, I'll be out there in just a moment," answered John hesitantly. It didn't take Sherlock more than three second to figure out what was going through John's mind.

"You've never been to a snowfall before, have you?"

"Of course I have…"

"John…"

"Ok, I'll admit it. This is my first time. I'd never seen the snow before," confessed John, blushing with embarrassment. Sherlock giggled and walked back towards the door. He took John's hand, kissed him lightly on the lips and said, "Don't worry about it, dear. We'll do it together."

And so they did. They walked in unison out the door. John shivered when he felt the cold snow below his bare feet but hen he felt the little droplets of frozen water falling onto his head and face, he couldn't help but let out a cheerful, innocent cry of the purest kind of joy. He began taking the snow from the ground and throwing it into the air, dancing around and jumping like a small child. Sherlock grinned and stared at him for a while. Suddenly, John stopped his small celebration and exclaimed "_Nightmare Before Christmas_!"

"What?" asked Sherlock, astonished at the sudden change in John's attitude.

"_A Nightmare Before Christmas_? The movie about the skeleton who tries to steal Christmas? I had a dream about it last night," replied John enthusiastically.

"Never seen it," said Sherlock. Now it was his time to feel embarrassed.

"You've never seen that movie?! But it's a classic! We need to watch it. Together."

"Count on it," whispered Sherlock, giving John a wink.


	4. Snowman

"Hurry up, Sherlock. We need to catch that train!" John Watson's voice travelled through the cold air that filled 221B all the way to the kitchen, where Sherlock as growing some sort of bacteria on petri dishes. "No we don't. We can just stay here and cuddle and watch movies," replied Sherlock indifferently. "Sherlock! It's MY sister. It's been years since I last spoke to her, and she invited US, yes, you and me, to spend a few days at her house in the outskirts of London. She's not the best person in the world but she's not a bad person either. Maybe you'll even like her," said John, exasperated. Sherlock stopped working on his petri dishes, smiled and walked to his room to take a shower and get dressed. 30 minutes later, they were descending from a cabbie at the London train station, where they would take the train that would take them to their destination. They walked together, holding hands gently, each with a piece of luggage rolling behind them. John had told Sherlock to pack up for a day or two, but he secretly expected to be staying for at least a week. As the two lovers climbed onto the black and red train waiting for them at the station, John wondered what had made his sister give him that call the day before. He was cuddling with Sherlock on the couch, when the phone rang. John picked it up, thinking it was probably Greg looking for some guidance on a new and apparently unsolvable case, when a strangely familiar voice greeted him from the other side of the line. Harry said to him that she felt bad for all the years the two siblings had spent apart from each other, and asked him to spend some days at her house located in Cambridge. The request had left John speechless for a few minutes before he could mumble something that sounded like "sure" and hanged up the phone. Sherlock was definitely surprised when John told him what had happened and was a little bit reluctant at first; after all, meeting people wasn't exactly Sherlock's thing. Still, Sherlock would do anything to see John happy and if he had to meet his insufferable sister to make him happy, he would. The attendant who asked the couple for their train tickets suddenly brought John back to reality. They were guided to their seats at the back of the train and were offered a cup of tea as soon as they placed their suitcases on the compartments above their seats and sat on the comfy leather chairs. The train left the station right on time. Both Sherlock and John were nervous about the experience they were about to live; yet they did their best to hide it from each other. John fell asleep after a few minutes on the train, leaving Sherlock with nothing to do but stare out the window as he drank from his already cold cup of tea. The view, he had to admit, was absolutely stunning. Little remains from the snowstorm of the day before still lingered on the air around the train, in the form of tiny, immaculate snowflakes that fell from the skies like fairy dust. Just looking at the countryside covered in a delicate layer of white pureness left Sherlock completely breathless. He wondered whether he should wake up John so they could share the view, but he decided not to. John seemed so peaceful in his profound dream that Sherlock thought it would be a sin to wake him. After a little more than an hour, the train arrived at the Cambridge train station. The attendants started blowing their whistles to announce to the passengers of their arrival. Sherlock kissed John on the nose to wake him up. John opened his eyes sleepily, rose from his chair, helped Sherlock take down the suitcases from the compartment above them and followed his boyfriend across the hall and out of the train. He was nervous; the fact of seeing his sister after of such a long time was at the same time exciting and terrifying. Just as she promised, Harry was waiting for them just outside the gates. John barely recognized the blue Volvo their father had given Harry when she graduated from high school so many years ago; it was now rusty and old. John was utterly shocked when he saw the young woman descending from the driver's seat. She was taller than John, had long, brown hair, and light blue eyes. The years they had spent apart had almost made John forget how his sister looked like. She was almost unrecognizable. To John's amazement, she gave both him and Sherlock a warm smile when she saw them approaching the car. When they were got to the car, Harriet jumped into John's arms and hugged him like she used to when they were children. John made an effort to blink back the tears that were threatening to flood his eyes. When Harry finally let go of him, he was almost out of breath. John could barely compose himself enough to introduce his boyfriend. Harry shook his hand politely and helped them place the suitcases in the trunk of her car. The trip to Harry's house lasted for about an hour. Harry drove quickly, yet carefully, as she tried to make small talk with John. They talked during the whole trip about their lives; what they had been up to during the last few years. John told her everything about Sherlock and the adventures and cases they had solved together, and Harry told him about her divorce from her former partner, Clara. Sherlock stayed in silence during most of the way, only speaking when either sibling directly addressed him. They arrived at Harry's house at about 3 pm. Harry parked the car outside the house and helped them with their suitcases. The three of them followed the trail that Harry had swiped for them that same morning and that lead to the front door. About halfway from their destiny, John stopped to look at a small bump that sat beside the trail. It was a snowman. "Remember Jack?" asked Harry with a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. "Of course I remember him. Jack the Snowman." Jack the Snowman was their favorite character from a TV series John and Harry used to watch when they were children. It had always been their dream to build a snowman just like Jack, but unfortunately the lack of snow in London kept them from doing so. "Why did you do this?" asked John. "I wanted to surprise you. I thought you would like it," said Harry with a smirk. "I love it. Thank you." "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I would like to go inside before we all freeze to death," said Sherlock. The three of them laughed and walked inside the house. It was small, but it felt warm and cozy. Harry guided the lovers to a comfy room located at the end of a long hall. She then gave them some privacy so they could unpack, and told them she would prepare something to eat. Sherlock and John were alone at last. "Thank you for coming with me. I means a lot," admitted John, blushing. "You know I would do anything for you," replied Sherlock as he placed a soft kiss on John's mouth. "Something tells me this will be a nice holiday." "I'm sure it will be, love. Don't worry. Now, do you want to go grab something to eat?" "I'm starving" They left their room and walked towards the kitchen. 


	5. Sled

John Watson woke up in a strange home. He would have panicked if it weren't for Sherlock's arms, which were surrounding him in a warm embrace. It only took him a moment to remember where he was, and, most importantly, why he was there. Suddenly all the memories from the previous day came storming into his mind, as strongly as the snowstorm from the day before, which had forced Harriet, Sherlock, and John to stay inside the small house for the whole afternoon. Surprisingly for John, this hadn't been at all unpleasant. The three of them sat in the living room, drank hot chocolate (which was not nearly as good as Sherlock's but was still drinkable), and talked through the night. Well, he and Harry did, since Sherlock seemed unusually distraught and hadn't spoken much all day. John believed he was just feeling a little uncomfortable staying at a house that wasn't his own, which John completely understood, since he wasn't too comfortable about the situation either. But this was a new day, and John hoped that Sherlock would feel better and more at home after the night they had spent at Harry's house. John looked at the digital clock sitting beside him over the nightstand. It read 6:30 am. It might have been a little early for some, but John liked to drink a warm cup of tea and read the paper for a while before everyone else in the house woke up. It was one of the only quiet times he would get at home. Thus, he slipped out of bed managing not to wake up his sleeping partner; he put on his grey slippers and his brown jumper, and walked out of his room into the hallway. He found his way to the kitchen trying to avoid the creaky spots on the old wooden floor, to make the least noise possible. Sherlock was asleep, and he figured Harry would be too, since she wasn't exactly what you would call a morning person. So you could imagine the surprise he felt when upon entering the kitchen he found his sister Harriet sitting on the counter, drinking from a white cup with red stripes, which seemed to contain something similar to coffee. She was wearing sunglasses, which stroke John as odd, since the sun hadn't come up yet, and Harry was still wearing her nightgown. However, the younger sibling decided not to mention it, since he didn't wan to disrupt the peace that had reined the house since his arrival. "Morning, Harry," said John. "Oh, good morning John! I didn't see you, I'm so sorry. I just had a terrible night. I couldn't sleep at all!" replied Harry nervously. "Is Sherlock up? Would you like some breakfast? I can make you some bagels with cream cheese, of some eggs with h…" "No, Harry, Sherlock is not up yet, but thank you. Are you feeling all right? You seem a little…" "Yes, John, I'm alright, thanks. I'm just not feeling well today. You know, just an awful headache. I think I'm going to lie down for a bit and see if I can get some rest." "But what about the sled?" "What sled?" "Don't you remember? Last night we were planning to take the sled up the hill next to your house and roll down it. You know, have some winter fun." "Oh, yeah…"said Harry hesitantly, "I would love to go, but I'm really not feeling well today. You can go with Sherlock, I won't be mad. The sled is by the door." "Are you sure you don't want to come? We can wait…" "Yes, John, I'm sure. Now go and have some fun." Harry left her cup, still unfinished, in the sink and stormed out of the kitchen. She shut the door of her bedroom when she entered, which created a loud thumping noise that inevitably woke up Sherlock. The detective came rushing through the kitchen door a few moments later with an anxious look on his face. "John! Is everything all right? I heard a very loud noise and didn't see you in bed and I thought…" babbled Sherlock agitatedly. "Yes, dear. Everything is all right. It's just Harry. She's not feeling too well this morning so she said we could go ride on the sled by ourselves." "I'm sorry, love," mumbled Sherlock, "I know this was important for you, but if she doesn't feel right, we should let her rest. I'm sure she will feel better by lunch." "Yeah, you're probably right. Want some breakfast?" About an hour later, John and Sherlock were leaving Harriet's house, carrying a bright red sled. They headed toward the hill that sat a few meters away from Harry's house. As they walked, they conversed lightheartedly; John telling Sherlock how wonderful it was that they were together there, and Sherlock predicting what had happened in Harry's life since she had last spoken to John. He wasn't listening; he had stopped caring about his sister's past, to start worrying about her present. What is she doing with her life now? He wondered as they arrived at the bottom of the slope. It wasn't tall or steep, yet the couple felt like they could rest a few minutes before starting their hike up the top of the hill. They left the sled in the snow-covered ground beneath them and sat on the floor. They stared into each other's eyes, sharing a silence that only they understood. Sherlock smiled before pressing a gentle kiss upon John's lips. They parted their lips slowly, tenderly, and hugged before standing up again and grabbing the sled to begin their hike. They walked up the slope, which felt dangerously slippery, but they felt confident that if one of them fell, the other would catch him. The couple finally got to the top of the hill and stood for a moment, catching their breaths while enjoying the magnificent view that extended around them, further than what their eyes could see. They left the sled on the floor next to them and looked around, breathing in the aroma of Christmas and joy that seemed to emanate from the pine trees around them. John was breathless, not only for the hike, but also for the beauty that lied before him. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a fairy tale: luscious trees covered in snow seemed to flourish from the ground, and some mammals and birds were waking from their slumber to fill the forest with vibrant life. The snowflakes falling around him reminded him of fairy powder, which made him laugh like a child. He looked up to the sky, closed his dark blue eyes, and opened his mouth to let the white cold snowflakes fall into his mouth. Sherlock, however, was staring at something else. Through the windows of Harry's house, he could see a shadow walking around the different rooms; it seemed to be frantically looking for something. Sherlock suspected what it was, but he hadn't commented his worries to John. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin John's holiday for a silly suspicion. But Sherlock knew deep inside that it wasn't silly at all. John grabbed Sherlock's hand and positioned the sled so that it faced the slope. "Are you ready?" John asked, expectantly. "I'm ready when you are, love," replied Sherlock. They sat together on the sled; John in front, and Sherlock in the back, holding his lover's hips, more for affection than for support. They let out little screams of excitement and joy as the sled rolled down the slope, swiftly, against the wind and the snow. They did this again and again, for the whole morning, and most of the afternoon. They were so lost in their thoughts and so rapt in each other's eyes, that they only remembered Harry until the sun started to disappear behind the horizon. "We should go back. Harry must be worried by now," said John. "You're right. Let's go." They walked hand in hand, carrying the sled behind them, like they did with their luggage the day before at the train station. When they got to the house, they found that Harry was already locked up in her room. John tried to hide his disappointment, as he expected to say good night to his sister before going to sleep. Sherlock saw the sadness behind John's eyes, and hugged him tight. "We'll see her tomorrow. Now let's go get some sleep. You must be tired." And so they did. 


	6. Cider

Sherlock woke up early that morning. He noticed that John was still fast asleep beside him, probably exhausted from the day before. Carefully, he untangled himself from Johnt surprised to find Harry already in the kitchen. She was sitting on the counter, drinking a dark liquid, which Sherlock deduced to be coffee, from a red and white cup.

** said Sherlock. **

** answered Harry, ha ha ha Im going to bed, I**Have you been drinking, Harriet?t like to beat around the bush.

** said Harry. Sherlock noticed a small tick had appeared on her left eye, probably caused by nervousness. **

** t lie to me. The signs are everywhere. Your walking furtively around the house, hiding bottles inside the drawers, your mysterious trips to the kitchen in the middle of the nightm going to ask one last time before I go upstairs and get John.**No, please donIs nothing to be worried did you invite us? Really, I want the truth. It wasn

**Harry opened her mouth to say something but froze. She stared at the door behind Sherlock; absolute terror plastered on her face. Sherlock turned around slowly, to discover a still half-asleep John standing by the door. **

**asked John. **

Sherl, what is happening?t happen often. Although he wanted to tell John about his sistert want to ruin JohnDid you lie to me? Did you just call me to give you money? Were you using me?John, itjust let me explain,Enough, Harriet! I** Johnt answer, but her eyes involuntarily moved to one of the lower cabinets on John**You don** exclaimed John as he grabbed one of the bottles and threw it against the floor with all the strength he had. The bottle shattered into a million pieces against the cold marble floor and a transparent liquid came from beneath the broken glass. Harriet burst into tears and John stomped out of the kitchen. Sherlock followed him. **

**When they got to their room, John was silently packing his suitcase. He didn**You knew didn** Johnt bring himself to tell him the truth but he wasn**Doesn** said John, his voice a little steadier this time, **


	7. Ice-skating

The next morning, Sherlock woke up to find John wasn't laying next to him, as he had been every single Saturday morning since they had got together. Sherlock looked around the room, trying to decipher where he was. He saw John's special shoes, the ones he liked to wear on Saturdays neatly tucked behind the half-open closet door, but Sherlock couldn't seem to locate neither John's slippers nor his robe, so the detective came to the conclusion that his boyfriend had left the room but not the house.

Sherlock rose from the bed and made his way through the hallway and into the living room; unable to recall the events that followed their departure from Harriet Watson's manor. They had discovered that her drinking habit wasn't a ghost from the past, but a shadow from the present that would still haunt the Watsons until Harriet decided to act on it.

When Sherlock walked into the living room of 221B, he found John asleep on his chair; his right hand curled around a cup of cold coffee. He had probably fallen asleep somewhere around two in the morning, Sherlock deduced by the apparent temperature of his coffee. The young detective felt a shiver crawl up his back and noticed how cold it was, probably due to the hour of the day and the remnants of the snow of a few days ago that still sat upon the frame of the living room's window, which was now half frozen. Sherlock went as silently as possible towards the closet in their room, where he grabbed a blue, stripped blanket, with which he covered his boyfriend's body. He took the mug from John's hand and placed it by his side on a small table. He then went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast.

After introducing two pieces of bread into a toaster and boiling some water for coffee, Sherlock started thinking about how their visit to Harriet's house had both deeply affected John emotionally and interrupted Sherlock's plans of creating a 25 day long Christmas for John. He tried to remember what he had planned for this day, but couldn't quite remember what he had thought about. He began to open up his mind palace to search for something special to do to make John feel better and forget for at least a while about Harry. But as soon as John walked to the kitchen wrapped up in the blu, stripped blanket with that sleepy face that Sherlock simply _adored, _he remembered what he had planned for that day. It could be summarized in two words:

"Ice-skating!" muttered Sherlock. John gave him a confused look, expressing he hadn't quite understood what Sherlock had just said, to which Sherlock responded with a kiss on the nose and a hot cup of coffee. "Drink up, John. Your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. We have something important to do today," he said as he simultaneously took the bread from the toaster and opened up the butter and jam jars for their toasts.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry but I don't know what's going on. And I'm not in the mood for solving any cases today. I'm still concerned about what happened yesterday with Harry and…"

"John, listen to me," Sherlock interrupted, "You need to get out of the house. And this isn't a case; it's something much better. Remember I'd promise this Holiday would be special. Now, eat your breakfast and get ready. Quick!" Despite not knowing what the hell he was getting himself into, John followed Sherlock's instructions as swiftly as possible and in less than 30 minutes they were already out the door.

"Sher, please tell me where are we going," begged John when they were already in the cab. Sherlock smirked and held John's hand.

"It's a surprise," he whispered.

The taxi pulled over by the _Alexandra Palace Ice Rink._ When he got out of the car, John threw himself into Sherlock's arms, saying, "No, you didn't, you didn't," to which Sherlock responded, "Yes, I did." He placed a kiss on John's forehead and led him into the ice rink. John was so excited he almost seemed like a small child on Christmas morning, which he practically is, Sherlock thought.

John took Sherlock's hand and said, "When I said I'd always wanted to learn how to ice-skate I didn't think we would actually do it." Sherlock smiled and walked to where the skates were kept. He asked for a single pair of size 10 skates and handed them to John. "Aren't you skating too?" asked the doctor as he took the skates from Sherlock's hands.

"No, John. Unfortunate experiences in the company of my brother have seriously made me averse to this particular sport," Sherlock replied.

"In that case, I'm not skating either. Not unless we do it together," said John, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"John, don't do this. Please."

John grabbed another pair of skates and handed them to Sherlock. "I knew you would do it. I love you." Said John as he pressed a soft kiss on Sherlock's parted lips. Sherlock rolled his eyes and took the skates John was offering him.

Five minutes later, they were standing in the ice rink, holding hands to maintain their balance. The couple was surrounded by a myriad people whose levels of experience seemed to vary from mere beginners to absolute experts. "Sherlock," John said quietly, "how well do you skate?" Sherlock let go of John's hand and proceeded to make a twirl and a jump; displaying his abilities at the sport, as he was no beginner himself. John applauded to Sherlock's small trick and lost his balance. He grabbed Sherlock's shirt to avoid falling, but instead of steadying himself, he made Sherlock lose his balance as well. Both men fell on the cold ice; Sherlock landing on his back and John falling on top of him. They both let out a giggle and clumsily managed to stand up again. John, still chuckling to himself, said, "I guess I need a few lessons."

After an hour of practicing, John was already quite good at ice-skating, though he still looked for Sherlock's hand from time to time, not anymore for balance, but more for the confidence that the warmth his boyfriend's hand provided him. When leaving the rink, John hugged his partner tightly and whispered into his ear, "Thank you, Sher. For the best Chris…" Sherlock interrupted, "Don't say anything. It's not over yet and I have so much planned for us." They smiled at each other and kissed each other ardently before taking a cab back home.


	8. Gingerbread

The warm smell of vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon woke up John from a deep slumber. He couldn't quite recall what he had dreamt, though he could in fact remember the night before: all the kissing, loving, sweet whispering that lead up to him falling asleep into Sherlock's arms. John loved the way Sherlock made him feel. He had spent his whole life sleeping on beds that didn't feel like his, in the arms of lovers who had never quite understood him. Here, in this bed, John felt complete and he felt safe. This was home. He felt the soft sheets against his bare torso, pushed his face into a pillow that smelled like bitter coffee and cologne, Sherlock's characteristic aromas. John smiled to himself: he truly was the luckiest man in the world for having found not only a roommate, or a friend, but a soulmate. Sherlock completed him the way no one else could. John was tired of seeing war and misery and hatred. Sherlock had taught him how to love and be loved, Sherlock, who on the outside appeared like the coldest person, a "freak" without emotions or sentiment, had made him want to be alive again, to breathe, to smile. John would never admit this, but Sherlock saved his life. Not only from all the villains who had tried to kill him through the years (well, being friends with the world's only consulting detective did have its disadvantages) but also from himself. John Watson had seen enough of the world and its horrors to want to inhabit it anymore. And the lack of someone worth living for just made life to hard to handle. Just before Mike Stamford introduced him and Sherlock, John used to sleep with a charged gun under his pillow, waiting night after senseless night to pull the trigger. A single tear ran through Johns face, wondering what his life would have become, or whether it would have ended by now if Sherlock hadn't walked into it.

"Oh, shit." Sherlock's voice was audible from their room, and John sprung out of his thought and ran to the kitchen.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" called John, wondering what was Sherlock up to that morning. John walked to the kitchen, slowly, wrapping himself in Sherlock's robe, which was definitely too big for him. He was stopped in his tracks when he sensed that the sweet smell of cinnamon had been replaced by that of ashes and smoke.

"John? Are you up? Did I wake you?" asked Sherlock, with a look in his face that was half worry and half embarrassment.

"It's alright, Sherlock. What is going on here?" John didn't mind the black smoke coming out of the oven. As long as the house wasn't on fire, there was nothing they couldn't solve. "What happened here?"

"John, I'm so sorry. Every time I try to do something for you I end up ruining it." Sherlock seemed disappointed, as he looked at the floor and placed a tray filled with a black substance on the sink. "I was trying to surprise you...again. Apparently I'm not as good at baking as Mycroft is."

"Why don't you tell me what you were trying to do so we can fix this together?" John smiled and walked towards Sherlock, only to plant a single kiss on his cheek.

"You know you are always cooking for me and keeping me from starving when I have an important case. I wanted to do the same for you... well not the same, I guess you have never forgotten to eat, but I tried to cook something nice for you. A gingerbread house."

"Oh Sherlock! A gingerbread house? You didn't have to cook it all from scratch! We could have just bought the prepackaged house and some decorations to make it here together! You didn't have to do all this by yourself."

"But I wanted to, John. You deserve this and more. You deserve the best gingerbread house there is and all you get is a black stinking piece of burnt dough. I'm sor..."

John hurried to press his lips against Sherlock. "Don't say you're sorry when there is nothing to be sorry about. Come on, get dressed and we will go buy more dough, so we can make a new house together."

Sherlock smiled and they both went off to get dressed.

15 minutes and a cup of coffee later, they were heading out the door, holding hands to keep them warm, and wearing their comfiest winter clothes. John liked to see Sherlock dressed like that, when most of his body was hidden from view and he had to imagine the way his body moved beneath his pants and coat. Sherlock signalled a cab that was just passing by, in front of their house and they got inside.

"Take us to the nearest store." Sherlock's voice sounded grave from the cold, and John thought he might have to make sure Sherlock didn't get sick during Christmas.

A few minutes later they were parked in front of a store, where they got off. Sherlock looked like a child, jumping from aisle to aisle, looking for the best ingredients to make the dough and decorate the house.

"Look John, we need to buy french vanilla to make it taste better! And food colouring to decorate the house. Oh look! Chocolate chips!"

John just smiled and carried the ingredients to the counter, where they paid and headed back to the flat.

When they arrived, Sherlock grabbed the bag with the ingredients and started putting them on the table. The kitchen was completely clean; John knew it had to be Mrs. Hudson. He made a note to thank her for it later. Sherlock grabbed a bowl from a shelf and began mixing the ingredients one by one inside it. The milk, the sugar, the flour, the vanilla, the cinnamon. John marvelled at how concentrated Sherlock could look when he was doing something he enjoyed, so he decided to get out of his way and went over to preheat the oven and prepare the decorations. Sherlock cut the dough precisely with a ruler and a knife, following a template he probably had prepared from the day before. He put the pieces of the house in the oven and closed it. John had just finished cleaning the table and the utensils Sherlock had used to prepare the dough, and they both sat at the table to wait for the dough to be ready.

Sherlock was very impatient to start decorating, and John was amused by this new artistic and rather domestic side of Sherlock he had never seen before. Sherlock fidgeted with John's fingers, holding them, playing with them and John just stared at their hands, marvelling at the way they seemed to perfectly fit one another...

"Like pieces of a puzzle, right?" said Sherlock. John was taken by surprise. It always amazed him how Sherlock seemed to read his mind.

"Yeah, like pieces of a puzzle. Or like the clues of a case. They just fit together. We fit together."

The oven rung and Sherlock jumped from his seat to take out the dough. John hurried behind him to pass him some glove so he wouldn't burn himself. Once they set the pieces of the house over the table (they smelled delicious) they began to work. They waited for a few minutes while they pieces cooled down while they prepared the icing. Then, piece by piece, they were arranging them to create a house (which seemed more like a mansion) out of them. They needed to press on the parts firmly for a few minutes while the icing dried and the house gained stability, and while they were doing that, Sherlock on one side and John on the other, their fingers grazed each other slightly. The soft touch of Sherlock's fingertips sent a shiver through John's spine and he wished he could just let go of the house and hold on to Sherlock instead.

When the structure of the house was ready, they started decorating it. Sherlock and John had agreed that each one of them would decorate a side of the house and when they were done, they would show the other their side. John began to work. First, he thought of doing a replica of 221B Baker Street, with the white bricks, the black door, and the sandwich bar with the red tent on its side. But then he remembered Harry. He had been so happy with Sherlock that he had almost forgotten about the unfortunate encounter with his sister. John felt as if a hound was gnawing on his stomach and knew how he would decorate his house.

When they both finished giving the final touches to their side of the house, they counted to three slowly and turned the house around, so John could see Sherlock's side and Sherlock could see John's. Somehow, John was not exactly surprised by what he saw when he turned their masterpiece around. Some bits had been taken off from the walls of the house, making small holes in them. There was a gingerbread man lying on the ground, with its extremities torn out, surrounded by a pool of red food colouring. A string of yellow marzipan with black stripes surrounded the house.

"A crime scene," said John. He smiled at Sherlock, waiting for a further explanation of what the scene actually meant. There was too much detail to be a random crime, this one was special to Sherlock.

"You built your childhood home?" asked Sherlock, ignoring John's comment.

John tried not to be baffled by Sherlock's prediction, but somehow his boyfriend's knowledge of every single thing about him always managed to startle him.

"How did you know?"

"Well, it's fairly obvious. There is too much intricacy in this house. Look at the marzipan flowers and the bricks on it. You know this place, you didn't make it up. It isn't this flat, nor is it located at King's College. The decoration is far too Victorian to be from Afghanistan and is clearly not St. Bart's or your sister's current home. However, the events of the past few days must have triggered an emotion in you, and a strong one, I presume, given the strength with which you pressed the window panes into the house; you almost break it. John, I know the situation with your sister is very complicated right now, and I just want you to know that when you're ready to talk about it, I will be here."

John was blown away for a few seconds before he managed to change the subject.

"I'd rather not talk about it right now. Why don't you tell me about your crime scene?" Sherlock hesitated for a few seconds before exhaling loudly. He began talking.

"In 1990, my uncle was found murdered in front of his house. I was very close to him at the time, and not quite as observant as I am now. Correction, I was as observant, I just didn't use my abilities in the right way. But anyway, he was found dead in front of his house, his limbs mutilated. No marks, no fingerprints, no foreign DNA. Nothing. It could've been the perfect crime. I was younger at the time but not young enough. I guess I didn't learn how to cope well when life brought me unfortunate events, and that is when I fell into a habit I am just trying to break until now. Cocaine was the only thing that would get me going, after battling for weeks a crippling depression that rendered me unable to even get out of bed in the morning. The addiction helped me get to work, and I could solve up to 3 cases a week. But I wasn't happy, and I just kept finding excuses to delay the plans of suicide I had for myself if things didn't get better. But fortunately they did. You appeared into my life and gave me a reason to keep living, to keep fighting. You became the light of my life since the day you entered that lab at St. Bart's and when I saw you, I knew you would be my saviour. I just wanted to break free from all the dark things I have done and start again a new life with you. John, you have saved me. In more ways than I can count, in more ways than I thought was humanly possible to be saved. You were there for me. And I know I'm not the best flatmate or friend or boyfriend, but I'm trying my best to show you how much I care and how thankful I am for having met someone like you."

John smiled and pressed a soft kiss against Sherlock's lips.


End file.
